La violoniste et le cancre
by The Ryuu Victoire Tea Party
Summary: It's high school. The new kid arrives. The resident badass is not impressed. 3/4
1. Deep Sea Tide

Because fictional lesbian relationships are ever so satisfying. If you've read the manga, you'll realize just how many of the details are canon. Enjoy!

* * *

**la violoniste et le cancre**

_Deep Sea Tide_

She's tall and unapologetic and her single diamond earring glimmers in the vibrant September morning light. The classroom just got aired out, and Yoko and Hiromi just finished cleaning. They're chatting amiably, putting the brooms away. You met them earlier when you arrived, because you're used to waking up early and you like the early morning calm.

She's sitting on her desk hunched over, with her elbows on her knees and her hands folded in front of her face. Her mouth is leaning on her joined hands, and she looks rather severe. She's wearing the boy's uniform, which is unusual but not unheard of.

You approach her, and take the free desk next to her. You'll only be sitting here for the morning homeroom attendance period. Your first period this morning is European history, which is upstairs.

She turns her head slightly, noticing your approach. You smile, and offer a hand in the Western fashion.

"Hey. My name is Michiru. I just transferred here."

Her eyes are a violent, terrifying gold.

She looks away, and it's only when the bell rings and the rest of your classmates enter the room, chatting amiably and loudly and people are sitting down and you finally realize your heart is pounding away in your chest, and you had collapsed in your chair, a little breathless.

* * *

Your talents are the violin, swimming, and history. You like Jyuban high, and only momentarily miss your old friends. There's a girl called Ami in your advanced calculus class, and even though you're terrible at math, Ami's promised to help you, so you feel better.

Ami then reveals that she's fourteen, three years younger than you, and you feel like an idiot all over again.

But now it's gym class, and your idiot of a physical education teacher decided that everybody was going to play baseball outside, and take advantage of the fresh air.

It's your turn for the bat, and you try to fight the nerves slowly crawling through your stomach.

You grab the bat from a tall girl you can't remember the name of, but you nod and try to keep your smile calm.

You take your stand, clutching the bat with sweaty palms, your dark green hair pulled from your face tightly. And then you notice her. She's the pitcher. The golden haired, golden eyed girl.

She pitches three times, and you miss three times, and it's "_three strikes you're out_, _Michiru!_"

The girl just smirks at you as you walk off the field red-faced. Despite the hot sun above in a clear sky, you're shivering, and it's all because her eyes are exactly like gold - cold and terribly alluring.

* * *

Weeks pass, and September surrenders into a cool October, and the trees are losing their leaves in a beautiful display of colour. School is harder than ever, your first government exams are in a few short weeks and you can't remember the last time you slept through the night soundly.

Your father notices, but stays silent. He just says, one Saturday while he's driving her to the supermarket to pick up some ingredients for supper, "_You know, when I was your age, I didn't spend so much time alone. You're an A student, Michiru, you can take a night off every once and a while."_

You don't answer. You turn you face away and keep staring out the window, your eyes drawn to the golden and red panoply of leaves covering the streets.

* * *

It's Friday, and you don't know how time passes so quickly. You're staring in front of the cinema, looking at all the posters for the latest movies. Your clutching your scarf to your face, it's more than just a little chilly out.

"New girl."

The voice startles you, and you turn to your left to see the golden eyed girl standing there casually, in all her tall, disheveled glory. She looks like the wind is barely touching her, and her face is pale, and her leather jacket isn't zippered closed, and she looks like it's a cool summer evening, not the late fall night that it is.

"H...hi," you mutter. You can't believe how weak your own voice sounds. "Hi." You try again, and the smirk that makes your heart jump and flutter twists itself on her face.

"You're going to the cinema alone, green?"

She's calling you by the colour of your hair. It's not as strange as hers, that pale, almost white blonde.

"My name," you tell her softly, "Is Michiru."

She smiles, almost. The smirk is there, but her eyes are less cold, somehow. Michiru almost forgets how freezing the wind is.

"Yeah, I know. What were you thinking?" she nods to the posters.

You bite your lip.

"I was told by my music instructor that the soundtrack of this movie is mostly violin, composed by one of her friends. I was just curious. I don't think I'll actually go."

She rolls her eyes. "It's a romantic movie."

"I wasn't asking you to come. And I am not so much interested in the storyline as I am in the way the filmmaker uses the violin to portray the scenes of the movie. It's gotten very good reviews." You sound defensive, and somehow though your blood is boiling and you feel like you have no stomach, you're utterly _enthralled._

She removes one hand from her jacket's pockets and smiles, reaching out to touch your cheek with it. (Was she really so close, all this time?)

"Have a good night, greeny. I have stuff to do."

She begins to walk away and your face is burning, because it feels like her hot fingertips scalded your face and left a terrible scar.

She looks back over her shoulder, and throws, "You should go watch it. Don't worry about being alone. That's the way I prefer to watch movies, you know."

* * *

Your father is wearing his finest dark suit, and he's bought you a stunning deep green dress for your first performance at Jyuban high. It's the last day of October, and it's a Friday night. The students are all in the audience hall, chattering restlessly, eager to leave. You're the last act of the evening after a short break, and your fingers are shaking. The head of the music department at Jyuban gave you permission to play your own composition, and it's fifteen minutes long and your strings are tuned just perfectly and you're terrified.

The curtain calls, and you're standing in the middle of the stage, facing the audience squarely, shoulders set back and head raised.  
You have your violin ready, your face pressing against the black leather padding gently, and when you begin playing you forget to breathe and to stand and to see and it's just your fingers moving and your arm gently moving the bow as the song begins.

You've composed this three days ago, and you've secretly given this song the name _Deep Sea Tide._

When it's over, the entire audience remains stunned and the silence is absolutely magical as you take your little bow. Somebody tries to start clapping, and is hushed quickly.

It's the greatest honour a musician can receive - the silence of an audience of 800 people, too stunned and too enthralled and too moved to clap, or even say a word.

When your father meets you outside of the changing rooms, he's got dried up tears in his eyes, and he hugs you, his arms full of pride and warmth, and you smile, too tired and too happy to say a word.

* * *

History lets out when the bell rings and you're relieved, because though you think Senzo-sensei is very intelligent and talented, she does tend to talk forever, and it's been a long day.

You walk out and you see Ami in the hall and she smiles and tells you you should start studying for the calculus test in three days, and you agree and set a date.

Then she leaves, bidding you a good night, and you head to your homeroom to pick up your books and leave.

She's there, which is a little unusual but not unheard of, and she leaning against the window. Her eyes follow you as you enter the class. You nod and smile, and then try to look busy as you open your desk and sort out which textbooks you need to bring home tonight.

"Last Friday..." she starts. And then quietens.

Izumi-chan and a few of the other girls walk by, giggling loudly, and when you notice that you're the last ones left.

"Did you really make that yourself?"

You don't know what she's talking about.

"Excuse me?"

The golden eyed girl rolls her eyes. "The song, greeny, the violin piece you played last Friday."

"Oh." you blink, remembering the original question. You try to straighten yourself, brushing your hair from your face and straightening your back. Even then,you stand a good five inches shorter than her. "Yes."

The golden eyed girl smirks.

She picks up the books right out of your arms, and takes your black shoulder bag off your left shoulder.

"I have a car. Want a ride home?"

* * *

She's never been so terrified in her entire life. The golden eyed girl drives way too fast.

"My name's Haruka."

You're clutching the seat as her light blue car swerves off the highway, around the ramp, and into the calm suburban streets of her neighborhood.

"Yeah-"

Swerve.

"I-"

Sudden slamming on the brakes.

"Knew-"

Sharp turn.

"Th...that."

Her driving style is oddly reminiscent of her personality, and yet Haruka doesn't miss a single stop sign or run through any lights, and despite the extraordinary accelerations, the car doesn't skid or twirl out of control, not even for a split-second.

"Here's your place." The car stops, and you realize your hands are shaking uncontrollably.

Haruka has that rakish grin on her face, that half smirk monstrosity that makes your stomach flip. It might just be the utter fright induced by riding in a car driving by a Formula One wannabe _maniac._

You open the door and get out, dragging your school things with you, and find your legs hard to stand on, because your knees at shaking.

"Have a good night, Michiru."

You've barely shut the passenger-side door when the car screeches away.

* * *

The dreams are back, the ones that haunted your childhood, before your mother left.

You're standing on the edge of a void, a rather dark one, and everything afar is gold specks dotting the skies. Behind you is a dark blue cloud, shaped as a sphere.

You feel stronger somehow, your bones and skin made of diamond and steel, but your fears are doubled here, tripled even, as you stare out past the gates of the solar system.

"_Neptune_." you hear the words but it sounds rather like music, a violin playing from afar, the melody haunting and perfect and titanically powerful.  
"_Guardian of the ocean."_

You wake up.

* * *

Haruka puzzles you. You have no classes with her, because you're on the honour roll and because she's a bit of a mess. According to the other girls, Haruka is constantly skipping class and heading for a cigarette on the roof of the gymnasium. The girls talk about her fearfully, enviously, even kind of admiringly. They talk about her blue car (_"You mean you were actually offered a ride in her ferrari?"_) and nasty nicotine addiction and how talented she is at sports and at running, especially ("_Her sophomore year, she ran with the boys, and still got gold in the municipal competitions!"_).

Gold - her gold medals, her golden, blonde hair, her golden eyes, everything about Haruka is so beautiful, and so distant. You can't help but bring her up in conversations whenever you thinks the other girls would accept the jumping of subjects as natural. Even though Haruka's shared things with you - "Don't worry about being alone. That's the way I prefer to watch movies, you know." - and even though Haruka doesn't smirk towards you in that cold, menacing way anymore, you're still curious, and still (somehow, incredibly, strangely, oddly, _magically_) wanting to know more.

* * *

You decide to take the metaphorical bull by the horns, and you walk up to the gymnasium one lunch period, a little lunchbox in your hands. You don't know if Haruka brings her own food, but you've never seen her in the cafeteria buying lunch, so you figure it can't hurt to share the food you made last night. It's not very well made or anything, but you tell yourself it's the thought that counts.

You reach the top of the stairs, and push the heavy steel door to walk outside on the roof. The wind hits you particularly fiercely, and you try to tuck your free fingers into your sleeves.

Now you remember why this could have been a bad idea.

She's there, standing in her leather jacket, and you can smell the smell of tobacco in the freezing air, though she's shoved her hands in her pockets and is looking away, far off beyond the cityscape.

"Hi Haruka."

Haruka turns her head, blinking, as if just startled out of some deep thought. Her eyes are wide and her face is sweet-looking, startled like that. "Oh, hello Michiru. I thought you didn't like the cold."

You shrug. "I thought you might be hungry."

Haruka stares at the little green lunchbox in your stiff hands. "Oh, no. It's okay. Cigarettes and food don't usually mix."

You just bite your lip. "Is that how you stay so thin?"

Haruka begins to laugh. Now you're the wide-eyed, startled one. You're pretty sure there's some sort of drug in the air, or maybe it's the cigarettes, but everything feels perfect.

"I don't smoke to be thin. I smoke because I do. Here, you look freezing."

(You don't feel freezing, then, when her long fingers wrap gently around your arm, and you can feel her warmth through your thick sweater, and she pulls you against her, shielding you from the wind.)

"How can you stand like this in the wind and be so warm?"

Haruka smiles, her chin resting atop your head. The weight is pleasant, and you wonder if you should let your face rest across her shoulder.

"I love the wind. I was born to feel the wind in my hair, against my skin. It's why I love driving fast with the windows down, it's why I love running..." she trails off.

You stand there for a moment, and then she looks at you, and her golden eyes look as fiery as lava when she says, lips pulled into a lopsided smile.

"I think my stomach just grumbled. You promise you don't mind sharing your lunch?"

* * *

It's like your dreams all over again, but this time your awake. _Staring up at the stars so bright against the black, and so far..._

You are at your instructor, Okiko-sensei's house one dark Thursday evening. She's giving you new pieces to play, some melodies that sound more Japanese, others more characteristic of the great European classics, and even another modern piece by an American. The bow bounces off the strings and your calloused fingertips dance across the violin's neck. No matter what piece of music sensei gives you, your violin feels particularly haunted - cold like the November wind and as dark as the fathomless ocean depths.

It drives your instructor to tears. "_I can't believe how beautiful your playing is and how talented you've become lately. You're going to surpass me very soon._"

Okiko-sensei was there when your mother left, with her Jasmine tea and her reserved sentences overflowing of generosity. She's been coaching you since you were twelve years old. You can't imagine not playing violin for her four times a week.

You decide to forgo propriety as you grasp your teacher's hand. "I will come have tea with you, and we will play violin together, even when I am at university."  
Okiko-sensei smiles, patting your hands and then tells you what to emphasize the next time you begin the piece again.

* * *

You're staring out at the dark window, and Ami asks you if everything's okay.

"What?"

"_Are you feeling well? You should perhaps warn sensei tomorrow that you haven't been well enough to study for the exam Monday."_

You smile, batting her concerns away with a gentle swing of your hands. "I'm fine, just a little lost in thought, I'm afraid."

Ami smiles, "_I'm glad to hear you're alright. Do you want to talk about what's on your mind?_"

Millions of words rush to the tip of your tongue, fighting to come out at once. "N..no. Thanks, but I think I can manage."

A while later, when you don't notice, Haruka walks by the open door of the classroom and smiles at your hunched form, trying hard to concentrate on a subject you despise.

You raise your chin, moments later, but there's nobody in the doorway, and Ami softly chastises you for losing focus yet again.

* * *

You've started bringing your lunch to the roof every day, and you've even coaxed Haruka to stop smoking when you're up there with her. You pack extra, and learn what she likes to eat (salad, actually, with tomatoes and peppers) and you learn that underneath those cold eyes lies a rather warm, teasing smile.

And maybe you learn that underneath your quiet thoughts, lies a girl who likes being teased by those sparkling, luminous eyes.

* * *

December arrives, and with it, the first snow.

The usual commute to school is more crowded than usual, inexplicably. You're standing stuck uncomfortably between hundreds of strangers, walking to the trains and off again then on the bus and off again.

The snow itself is beautiful, and seems to glow in the penumbra it causes in the morning. You're smiling, and your dark eyes raise to the sky. You cross the school courtyard and walk eagerly to homeroom.

You sit down at your desk, unpacking cheerfully. The minutes tick on, and more and more students arrive.

The bell rings, the homeroom supervisor walks in with the attendance sheet. You rise to stand with the rest of the class, and there is a chorus of sleepy voices that greets the supervisor respectfully.

Every moment, you can't help glancing at the door.

Another bell rings, and students leave the class quickly, carrying book bags and chatting animatedly.

You gather your things quietly, trying to delay for every possible second you can spare...

It feels like your heart has stopped beating when you put your books in your arm, and you can't help but feel like something's gone terribly, terribly wrong.

* * *

Haruka doesn't come to class for a week.

By Tuesday, you've tried to convince yourself that you don't care.

By Wednesday, you have to force yourself not to go to the director's office to ask for her home telephone number.

By Thursday morning, you find yourself holding back tears as you enter homeroom.

By Thursday evening, you tell yourself you've never hated a person more, for being so completely absent and so completely enchanting and so completely _terrible _for your mental health.

By Friday, five days have passed without Haruka, and you find yourself going home early, complaining of an upset stomach to the school nurse who pats your shoulder condescendingly and wishes you a good weekend.

You play your violin for hours that night, staring out the window of your father's apartment's living room. Your fingers are red and the callouses are starting to blister, but you ignore the foolish harm being done, unable to stop playing.

The violin itself sings music aching with worry, of a sickening anticipation for some terrible news.

* * *

Saturday morning, you wake up, and you dreamt of a car crash.

You grab your coat, and a scarf, and you almost leave the house with no boots, but your out the door before your father can ask you what's wrong, and you're running over the melting snow to get to the bus stop heading downtown.

You were always the quiet one. Your dark eyes sparkled only if you took the time to notice, and your father always called your gaze the gaze of an inquisitive soul. "_You've always been gazing out, searching, understanding, but your own way."_

You don't usually wake up from a dream with an address seared into your consciousness, visions of something too horrible to be just a dream.

You don't usually ignore your father when you leave the house. You don't usually share you lunch with the worst student in the grade, and you don't usually get distracted from your studies and your routine.

Most importantly, you don't usually play the violin like it's the only voice of a haunted, dark soul.

You're not dark - you're just little Michiru, with green hair and aquamarine highlights and a slight propensity to get lost in thought.

(You remember an English saying, that you once heard. It's one of your favourites: "still waters run deep.")

The point is, you know what happened to Haruka, and the why's and how's can wait.

* * *

"Why would I warn you where I was? I was recovering quite well on my own."

"I could have helped the recovering! I could have brought you homework, or-"

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm not a babysitter!"

"Really, homework on a sick day? Sounds like a babysitter to me. I don't need you telling me what to do."

"Telling you- Haruka, I was so worried! You- you just vanished!"

A sneer in her words, a bitter sarcasm: "Pardon my insolence for being part of a life-threatening car accident. Really, I'll be more careful next time!"

Tears thickening Michiru's voice: "And...and t-then I had no news! I almost asked the director for your number!"

"I don't need your help, Michiru. I'll be out of here in a few days."

"Everybody needs somebody, sometimes."

"I don't _want_ your help Michiru."

Footsteps, and then the soft closing of a door.

"Michiru?"

Silence. Sound of a person shifting in bed, rolling over slowly under the sheets.

* * *

Haruka's been out of the hospital for a while, and decided to lose the crutches after half a day, proclaiming that her ankle was healed and her left hip was doing just fine. Life seemed to go back to normal for the blonde after a few eternal weeks. Eventually news of her car crash spread and she became the celebrity of early December. But it didn't last.

It was soon going to be Christmas vacation, and soon would come the January exams and the placement tests and nobody thought of Haruka's accident anymore.

Nobody...

* * *

You force yourself to focus on school.

Your violin playing is increasingly sad, and Okiko-sensei notices the change.

More importantly, golden eyes are cold once more.

* * *

You have a dream again - it's not like the usual ones of standing alone on the edge of space, or the one where you relived Haruka's accident. This one is stranger.

But Haruka is there with you, clad in a shockingly feminine deep blue gown. She calls herself the Princess of Miranda and she's calling you the Princess of Triton. You're facing each other in this cold place, and the wind is fierce.

Her arms are where you are, and you gaze out to the stars together.

You can't pull yourself out of bed come morning, because you don't know anymore if you're dreaming - or reliving a memory.

* * *

It's the last day before winter break, and Haruka is waiting for you by the bus stop. You're a little late, because the music director at school wanted to have a conversation about performing in a music competition as a representative of Jyuban high school. There's nobody at the bus stop other than Haruka and the night is getting dark already.

Haruka's standing in her trademark dark brown leather jacket, her uniform's pants soaked by the snow, and a dark brown scarf wrapped around her neck. She's smoking a cigarette, which is not allowed at public transit stops. You walk right by, resolutely going to ignore her.

Haruka stands slightly behind you, a little bit off to your side.

"I was an idiot at the hospital. I just felt guilty."

You don't move an inch, taking in a sharp intake of breath.

(Your resolve is already reduced to ashes, but maybe it's your pride is keeping you from admitting it.)

"Every time I watch a movie now, I can't help but wonder what you'd have to say about the soundtrack."

The bus comes, and your heart leaps in fear. Through the snow, you can barely tell what the bus' number is, but finally after a good three seconds your blurry vision focuses and you can tell it's not your bus at all.

You turn around and to your immense surprise Haruka is standing a few inches from yourself (was she always so close?), her eyes warm and curious and wide.

She's not smiling or frowning, and her face is beautiful underneath the snow. For once, there is no wind, and you can nearly stand the cold as you take in her pale face and pink lips, and her golden eyes.

"I've never done this before." you half-plead.

Haruka nods. "Me neither."

When her arms wrap around you, it's not just for shelter from the cold, it's not just an apology - you could be two towering princesses clad in dark fabrics standing on the edge of the universe and you're holding on just as tightly as she is because you've never ever known the world to be this cold and this warm and everything else fades in the smell of her leather jacket and her clean hair.

The snowflakes that drift down to melt on your skin as she kisses you (so softly, simply ever so softly) pepper your hair and your clothes, and when she opens her eyes and looks at you with adoring, hot-as-lava golden eyes, Haruka laughs and calls you a green-haired snowman.


	2. Distant Sky King

_Author's Note: This will be a four part story._

_Enjoy._

* * *

**la violoniste et le cancre**

**2 - distant sky king**

**

* * *

**

Perhaps if you'd ever set a precedent with a boy, this would be stranger.

Television and books from your childhood fed you countless perfectly-ending stories. You've been to hundreds of festivals in your life celebrating the mythological romances of star crossed characters.

Every time you hear references to the old stories in songs or when reading, you think of Haruka's smile. Every time you play your violin, you dream up festivals celebrating Haruka.

* * *

The first time you convince Haruka to sit in the cafeteria with you, you have to drag her in and stomp on her cigarettes . It's the beginning of January, and you have no business letting either Haruka or yourself catch a deathly cold whilst enjoying the sharp winter wind.

Haruka promises to keep you warm (you pretend to obliviously take her sparkling eyes as amused and not the sort of half leering they are) and you push her towards the door, promising her that sitting in the cafeteria will not destroy her reputation as the school badass. You also promising her that you'll distract her from whomever Haruka is afraid of seeing down there.

You pretend the sparkles in your eyes are amusement from Haruka's indignant sputtering - "I am _not_ afraid, you silly girl!" - but you're really just thinking of all the new methods of distraction you want to experiment on the blonde girl.

* * *

You eat together, and laugh together. Haruka tends to come up with hundreds of inside jokes with the minutes you steal away together during the school day. You like to touch her single diamond earring when she's looking off pensively, and she likes to run her long fingers through your long green hair when your mind gets caught up somewhere far off and unreachable.

When waiting in line for the assembly once a week, or when settling in line for physical education inside the gymnasium, you tend to gravitate towards each other.

Haruka's smoking has begun to decrease because most of her free time is occupied with you, and the gym teacher recognizes Haruka's old ability surfacing through again one afternoon in class. She walks over, her voice hard but sprinkled with a truthful clarity, and tells the towering blonde girl with one eyebrow raised.

"_This spring, I want you to try out for varsity track and field, Haruka. I haven't had a good sprinter since you quit_. _Keep this up._"

Haruka's golden eyes sparkle at the not-so-subtle-order, and you bite your lip. When the physical education teacher walks away and a few of the girls start whispering to each other, you squeeze her fingers discretely and whisper that you think this could be a good thing.

Haruka gives you that look you've begun to associate with her gentler kisses, and your heart flutters excitedly.

* * *

She gives you a ride home most days, but in the mornings you tend to commute - it's your ritual to wait outside for the bus every morning, and your neighborhood is peacefully quiet in the early daylight.

On a particularly cold day in January, Haruka surprises you by throwing a couple half-slush snowballs at your window. When you come down in your pajamas to open the door, she's standing there with her rakish half grin, wearing a little black hat. She tells you that the bus and train system is shutting down for the day due to the record-setting cold and ice coating everything from streets to houses to telephone lines to the train tracks.

About ten minutes later in your kitchen, you're both sitting on the counter of the small room listening to a small blue box announce the morning news. The radio finally broadcasts which school districts are shut down for the day, and Jyuban High is one of the first schools mentioned. Haruka picks you up in her arms and twirls you around delightedly, singing a little victory chant incredibly out of tune.

This is the scene your father walks out of the bathroom to see, having just finished shaving for the morning.

You explain the reason for celebration and he just rolls his eyes and kisses you on the cheek, tells you both to behave, and goes to work for the day.

* * *

This day quickly becomes one of the fondest in your memory.

You make hot chocolate, and dive through your collection of old childhood VHS tapes, and plug into cartoons you haven't seen in years. Haruka doesn't talk much about her childhood, but you notice she doesn't recognize a lot of the names you throw at her.

When you sit on the couch, she tugs you into her arms, and by the time you're on the fourth VHS, more than three quarters of yourself is draped over Haruka. She does not like letting you go.

(Changing the tapes in the tape player is quite the challenge. You've solved the issue like this: Haruka stands up, dragging you up in her arms, she then throws you over her shoulder, which at this point you protest vehemently, she takes her sweet time choosing a tape, cheerily ignoring your grumbling, and then sits you back on the couch before following happily. You feel a little like a rag doll, but then you see Haruka's red cheeks and her pleased smile and you let her kiss your protests away.)

(This happens every time.)

* * *

Around lunchtime Haruka raids your fridge while you make more hot chocolate. You've changed out of your pajamas, and had to be careful to lock the door behind you as Haruka yelled obscenities about needing to make sure you weren't putting together some sort of trap weapon to take her unawares later.

* * *

You remember the first time she ever really paid attention to you.

By that you mean the first time you saw a glimpse of that way she acts now: warm gold eyes and that easy smile that hides in her face, just barely at the surface of her skin. It was that day at school after you'd played your first concert at Jyuban high and stunned the gathered school audience into silence after playing your own composition.

So when you take out your violin case and bring it to the living room, you feel nervous - not quite the raging killer moths you get in the ten minutes before a huge concert. This anxiety is less in your stomach and more in the quickening of your heart.

Haruka's eyes light up at the sight of the unassuming black violin case, and when you take out the old red wooden instrument and start making sure it's in tune, that dreamy smile on her face reminds you so much of a child you don't know whether to kiss her or laugh at her.

Instead, you start playing.

The beginning sounds a little like _Deep Sea Tide_, the piece you created in October, but as you keep playing in the silent room, the song changes, and you don't quite realize you've been playing for almost an hour until your fingers begin to sore a little and as the bow slows and the music echoes away, you raise your dark eyes to look into hers.

Her golden eyes rarely look that soft.

"I love it when you play." she says quietly, reaching out to graze the tips of her fingers along your bare shoulder.

You smile, just a little shyly, absurdly pleased.

* * *

The night ends when your father returns home to find you completely asleep in Haruka's lap, the low blue light of the television lighting up the room dimly. He steps on something crunchy (a piece of popcorn - remains of an earlier tickle fight that ended in an explosion of popcorn when you made Haruka drop the bowl.)

You had started watching an old samurai movie because Haruka got tired of the cartoons, and the movie is four hours long and in black and white. It's probably one of your favourite movies and it's quite old, and Haruka was very taken with all the swordplay and beautiful recreations of ancient famous katana.

Your father and Haruka exchange a few words, and Haruka picks up your sleepy body and puts you to bed. She kisses your lips when your father isn't looking, and then slips away from the house, a gentle smile on her face as she heads out into the cold night towards her car, parked up the street.

* * *

You wake up around one in the morning to get a class of water. You're a light sleeper, but you don't quite remember Haruka leaving or your father coming home (you do remember the sensation of being moved, and warmth slipping away from you, whispering promises in you ear.)

You open a hallway light as you open your bedroom door, and see the absolute chaotic mess Haruka and you left all over the kitchen and living room.

Rolling your eyes and muttering to yourself, you start cleaning up.

* * *

Jyuban high school reopens the next day. For the rest of the week, the cold begins to ebb away.

* * *

You still force Haruka to eat indoors, in the cafeteria. She protests a lot less, just a good grumble or two for good measure.

You're both a little less loud around each other now, there's more silence. Your eyes search each others during long moments as you both forget what you were going to say. Though at school you try to remain subtle, it becomes difficult to remember that there should be an invisible wall between you both. You don't realize you've reached for her hand until you notice a student glancing down between you both. You don't realize her familiar warmth seeping into your skin when she hovers over you, her chin resting lazily on your head until somebody raises an eyebrow at you both.

You're waiting in a crowd to enter the auditorium for a general announcement one Wednesday afternoon, and Haruka comes over to stand by your side, swinging her arm over your shoulder and pulling you close.

She whispers something in your ear and you start giggling. Ami is standing not too far from the both of you, and though you have no idea anything else exists other than Haruka and her fake whispering: "this is very serious business, Michiru", Ami is giving you both a long, inquisitive glance.

* * *

"Antlantis."

"Antlantis?"

"Yes, the mythical kingdom that was swallowed by the sea. It was said that-"

"Yes yes, I saw the Disney version. Crystals and floating Barbies and an advanced civilization. You'd really want to live in a place cursed by the gods?"

"I think the idea of living under the sea is beautiful. I would love to live there."

"Nuts. What about the sky?"

Silence. A nonchalant shrug.

"Are you completely disregarding my needs, greenie?"

"I never said you had to follow me to my dream kigndom."

"You idiot."

A reproachful glance.

"I'm warning you, I need the wind and the sky, green. Or else it's no deal."

* * *

Maybe if you'd ever set a precedent with a boy you'd realize what Ami's come over to speak with you about.

She slumps down on a chair, her fingers running through her short blue hair, and she takes off her large round glasses and looks at you with a face covered in a thick layer of apology.

"Ami-chan, what's wrong?"

"_I'm so sorry to bother you about this, Michiru-sempai. But the girls wouldn't let me study in peace until I came over you to ask you about some personal information._"

You smile then, because if there's any way to convince Ami to do anything, it's by holding a textbook she's never read before over a lit fire.

"It's okay Ami. Who are the girls?"

"_Izumi and her little cohort."_ Ami looked very cross then, but not at you or at herself, and you have to bite your lip - she's rather adorable when angry. _"Izumi in particular wanted to remain anonymous. But this is your business, and you have a right to know who wants to know your secrets._"

Ami's voice is positively venomous. You can't help but find it funny, if a tad worrisome. She wasn't even this angry when the crazy old physics teacher in the school basement called Ami an idiot and gave her eighty-two percent on her January examination (the lowest grade Ami has ever received in her life.)

"Izumi-chan? She's a bit of a gossip, I guess, but why didn't she ask me herself?"

"_Izumi is being a little coward. I want you to be reassured, Michiru-sempai, that I do not expect you to answer my query - I was forced to come ask you, but I do not want to be a messenger of secrets that are nobody's business."_

Ami is fourteen, and turning fifteen this spring. She always speaks in an overly formal manner, conscious of how much younger she is compared to her classmates.

So her next words are stupefying.

"_And her immature reaction to your relationship with Tenoh-sempai is simply exasperating! How could this possibly affect anything about her life? She should spend more time studying, the stupid girl!"_

_

* * *

_

You never realized just how incredible Ami Mizuno is. This little fourteen year old girl stood up to the most popular girl in the grade (and according to Izumi, indeed the entire school) and her fierce loyalty makes you regret being envious of the effortless ways she seems to float through the classes that cause you the biggest headaches.

You force Haruka to sit with you at Ami's solitary table at lunch.

Haruka protests vehemently.

"This is really quite unfair. I sit in the cafeteria, I carry your books for you, I drive you home after school -"

"The only thing I really asked of you was to come inside because I was cold but I still wanted to be with you. The other things, you just did yourself."

"But your violin hand is precious and shouldn't be holding so many books!" Haruka says seriously, stalling the entrance into the large, utlitarian dining hall.

"My hands are just fine, thank you." you grasp the back of her white collared shirt and start tugging gently towards the large double doors.

"I don't want to sit next to preteens. My reputation will suffer!"

"She's not a preteen, Haruka. She's a fifteen year old genius three years ahead of her peers. She's also very brave. Now shut up and act your age."

"Brave? She's a blue haired midget!"

You glare at the tall girl.

"And your a mean giant with broomsticks for limbs that doesn't know when to stop using peroxide."

Haruka blinks. Then she whistles, grinning widely.

"Meow!" she says in a low singsong voice. "Little kitty's got claws!"

You ignore her antics, grasping her collar and leading her to where your calculus friend is sitting. "And my hair is natural!" Haruka protests finally, grumbling as she stops resisting.

Ami is reading a book on neuroscience when you both arrive, and looks very shocked to see you both hovering over the free chairs.

It pleases you to no end that despite Ami's initial shyness at Haruka's brash manners, the little blue-haired girl doesn't give up an inch of space to Haruka's incessant (and not always gentle) teasing.

* * *

"Ami-chan, who knows?"

"_Chiefly the seniors girls. I don't think anybody in the lower grades know. I haven't really been paying attention, so I suspect I am not a great authority on this matter."_

"And you?"

"_What about me, sempai?"_

"Do you...well...what do you think? This is all rather unusual, I suppose."

"_I think that if you and Tenoh-sempai are happy, then I am delighted. Besides, your calculus grades have improved by an average margin of 12% since December and I have not seen you study more than before, so I cannot possibly be disapproving of your happiness."_

The small girl's logic has you grinning unabashedly from ear to ear.

"Ami, you're an amazing person. I hope you know that."

Very uncharacteristic blushing on the young girl's face.

* * *

Maybe if you'd ever set a precedent with a boy, you'd realize why students startle at the idea of two girls holding hands together in the halls. The teachers don't intervene because the school's regulations only apply to individuals showing public displays of affection to the opposite gender.

Sometimes you guilty dream of Haruka sweeping you off your feet in front of everybody - you share the daydream with said blonde, who starts making up the most ridiculous scenarios for you to laugh at.

You stop wondering what setting a precedent with a boy would change about the "now". You've decided that their careless and arrogant nature bore you, as well as their willingness to partake in the atmosphere of imposed judgement that seems to form whenever you walk by a particular set of students.

* * *

Haruka asks you out on a proper date up one warm day on the roof. She told you she missed the wind, and you decided that today was warm enough to brave the elements again.

To the proposed idea of going out together, you nod excitedly.

"What did you have in mind?"

She just tells you to be ready Saturday morning, relatively early.

Up there with the mild wind you can smell the smell of slowly defrosting earth and the cars faraway rolling along the roads, and all the sounds of the first birds reappearing despite the snow still on the ground. You're leaning against the edge of a railing, facing Haruka against the bright sky. Her fingers gently set themselves on the sides of your neck, grazing along your jaw, and her lips against yours are warm.

Despite the milder weather Haruka's warmth remind you of the cold still against you skin, and you wrap your arms around her waist and hold yourself against the girl, unable to think of anything other than soft lips on your skin and staying as close to her as possible.

You both miss the afternoon bell signaling the end of lunch period, and you nearly skip class.

(You run into your English class breathless, half an hour in, sputtering apologies at the teacher and explaining that you'd fallen asleep in the library, trying to catch up on homework. It's your first offense, so the teacher only assigns you an extra assignment for the tardiness, warning you that sleeping should be done in bed, at night, and not at school in the library.)

* * *

Saturday morning, you've woken up rather early, even by your standards. You've cleaned the kitchen twice, and are about to check the dishwasher when your eyes land on the monthly calendar stuck on the fridge's door.

The red circle around the black date sends your heart down to your toes, and your blood turns to ice underneath your skin.

Moving on autopilot, as if navigating through a dream, you set the wash cloth grasped between your fingers quietly down on the counter. Quieter than a draft along the floor, you head to the front door, and nervously walk down the flights of stairs to where the mailboxes of the apartment building are, stacked along the wall of the entrance hallway.


	3. Depths of the Deep

la violoniste et le cancre

3/4 The Depths Of Deep

* * *

_Saturday morning, you've woken up rather early, even by your standards. You've cleaned the kitchen twice, and are about to check the dishwasher when your eyes land on the monthly calendar stuck on the fridge's door._

_The red circle around the black date sends your heart down to your toes, and your blood turns to ice underneath your skin._

_Moving on autopilot, as if navigating through a dream, you set the wash cloth grasped between your fingers quietly down on the counter. Quieter than a draft along the floor, you head to the front door, and nervously walk down the flights of stairs to where the mailboxes of the apartment building are, stacked along the wall of the entrance hallway._

The letters come in pristine envelopes, creamy white in colour. They tear difficultly, as heavy weight papers often do. Because of violin, your nails are filed very short, so the extra seconds it takes to open the envelope are tedious, and your impatience makes your fingers shake ever so perceptibly.

Something falls out of the thick paper package to the floor, and you drop to your knees, hands reaching for the unfolded letter.

As the page smooths out before your eyes and underneath your fingertips, your breathing slows to almost a stop. Your eyes scan the lovely font, the carefully calligraphy of the signature, the shining stamp on the top of the page.

Each word drives your heart further and further into the ground.

* * *

Haruka is on time.

She doesn't notice the way your eyes water. She walks ahead of you into your house with her characteristically straight back and chin high in the air and her loud, happy voice is chattering on about something or another.

You force yourself to remain composed.

* * *

She grabs you into her arms as you're cutting the flowers over the sink. She brought you a bouquet and you're cutting the stems to vase them (lovely lovely flowers, lilies and little yellow bell-shaped flowers) and when she smiles into the sensitive skin above your collarbone, and it takes all your self-control not to burst into tears.

* * *

You realize then that Haruka notices. You're usual stoic demeanor is punctured by the sobs you're desperately holding within.

She tells you to buckle up (and you forget to tell her to do the same.)

She grasps your chin and forces your eyes to meet hers and her soft, daring smile brings out your own timid one.

"Whatever's wrong, Michiru, you don't have to tell me what it is. I'm just going to do my best to distract you from it, all right?"

Your heart feels so light and heavy at the same time.

You grasp her fingers that linger upon your cheek, and kiss them delicately.

You nod, looking into her eyes. You don't quite trust yourself to speak right now.

After a moment, she starts the engine.

* * *

The car is parked a a street away from an old temple. With the early morning and the chilled wind, there aren't the usual crowds of tourists.

You appreciate the easy silence, the sounds of your steps echoing on the stone floors. Your hands brush alongside the excellently maintained wooden carvings along the windows and doors, and your fingertips slide along the worn down stone walls and columns.

You gaze ahead, and around.

The barren trees seem not so forlorn, and the silence is soothing. You turn to Haruka, and ask her how she'd figure you'd like this place so much.

"I used to come here with my uncle, when I was younger." Haruka says as you round a wall, coming upon a stony courtyard. "He used to tell me that temples were a place for wishes and dreams and silence. I was fond of that."

Haruka is wearing a thick, black and elegant long coat you've never seen before. It's different from her usual leathery, punk-kid getup.

She looks like a well dressed man from an old black and white movie.

_Wishes and dreams..._

You notice the way her gentle skin shines in the early sun behind her ear and down her neck, and notice the subtle sparkle of her earring.

"You're very sweet, you know that?" you let the words slip, but you mean them even more as they depart your lips.

Haruka sticks her tongue out, causing you to smile.

She extends her lovely palm, fingers outstretched. "Come. Let's go leave a few prayers. Then I think I'm going to need some food. I'm _starved._"

You don't hesitate to grasp her hand.

* * *

The sunny afternoon draws to an end with you dragging her out of her car. You make her park on a street in front of a bank. Haruka is whining about why she has to park here.

"You really need to stretch your legs."

"_Excuse_ me? Miss I-Can't-Throw-A-Softball thinks _I_ need more exercise?"

"Com'on. You'll love this place. There's a pedestrian walkway a few blocks away, and one of my favourite violin-makers in Tokyo works here. He's a great friend of my teacher."

"Your teacher?"

"My violin teacher," you specify, "I've been working with her since I began, when I was seven or eight." You smile. "Her name is Okiko. She's a little bit eccentric, but a formidable violinist."

Haruka grimaces. "With a name like that..."

You sigh. "So will you get out of your car already?"

Grumbling, she unlocks the front door and clambers out of the low-rising sports car, long limbs straightening beautifully.

The excitement of going to the music store catches up with your usually placid demeanor. You want to skip down the pavement, but restrain yourself.

"Are you coming?" you smile at her brilliantly.

"Wait a moment, greeny. I have to pay for the parking."

* * *

The square is like you remember it (you wonder how long it's been since you've come this far downtown), with its hordes of people. Movement here is difficult, and Haruka's impatient weaving through the sea of shoulders and heads makes you smile. It also makes you slightly envious of her height.

The shopkeepers and food stall owners are calling out into the crowd, desperately trying to attract the crowds away from the vending machines by using the smells of warm dishes and treats to compete with their automated rivals.

Haruka gets distracted by a sports clothing store, and mentions she'll have to buy proper running shoes if she'll be joining the track team again this year, but she takes one look at your pleading happy face and agrees to go buy them later.

Whatever guilt you feel at dragging her along and making her do things only you want to do is extinguished by the kiss she plants on your forehead and her wry smile as she asks:

"Alright, green. Where's this music store?"

* * *

The violinmaker's shop smells slightly musty and very dusty, with the lingering odour of wood and the delicate lacquers for the instruments still in the air, and it's a very narrow store with a workshop in the back, with hundreds of stringed instruments hanging off the walls.

Haruka groans after nearly missing knocking down a suspended violin with her forehead. "I'm too tall for this," she laments.

You remember when Okiko-sensei first brought you here, and how you were afraid of knocking down the displays and breaking everything.

"Thank you for bringing me here. Let me see if Bachu is in the back." You kiss her on the cheek, and prance away.

A small part of you realizes you're acting slightly childishly.

You turn back as you push back the small door of the workshop, and see Haruka smirking at a couple of violas. Biting your lip, you call into the workshop, smiling at the grey haired man and his shy (but pleased, you are happy to note) manners.

* * *

"So you've taken me to a temple, we've gone driving along the harbour, and then you agreed to walk through the pedestrian district with me..." you smile as Haruka fiddles with her keys. "You've made this a beautiful day for both of us."

"Eh." she eloquently answers, pushing her steel front door open.

"Don't tell me you've also cooked me a delicious dinner, as well?"

This is your first time at Haruka's house.

You have butterflies in your stomach.

Your heart still feels like its insides are lined with lead. Each heartbeat seems to sink lower in your chest, and it is painful.

She drops her heavy weight coat on a counter as you enter the spacious apartment.

It's spotless, and decorated modernly, with large windows showing a slowly darkening Tokyo skyline.

Haruka turns on a few of the lights, but the shadows that linger are soothing, and the light is soft.

The tall blonde hands you a takeout menu.

"Pick what you like. Don't worry about the prices."

You scoff. "I'm paying my share."

Haruka smirks, then.

"My parents won't even notice the expense on their credit card. It's not like I use it for much else than food, anyways."

You notice the quiet of the apartment then, and the way Haruka seems to wander the halls like she owns the place. You tend to keep to the kitchen or your room, not wanting to disturb your father.

"Where are your parents?" you venture.

Haruka nodds to a steel calendar hung on the wall. Written in erasable black markers are the names of places. You walk carefully around the large, black kitchen island to check.

"...Paris?"

Your heart speeds up.

"Your parents live in Paris?"

Haruka shakes her head. "No. They have suites reserved for them in a few hotels around the world. Paris, Tokyo, Dubai, a few city in the United States...etc."

You stare at the calendar, and notice the way Haruka's careless handwriting's mapped her parents locations, every now and then including a phone number.

"Wait...you mentioned a hotel in Tokyo...your parents don't live here?"

"They used to." Haruka's voice is neither light or heavy as she utters the words from the dark living room. "Anyways, I have some sake in the fridge, and a few bottles of white wine. Want some?"

You turn around abruptly to see Haruka leaning against the counter separating the kitchen area from the vast living room. Her smile is slightly arrogant at your surprised expression. Her silhouette is set in the yellow light, with a backdrop of the Tokyo high-rises. Despite the breath-taking way she's looking at you (smirking amusement and all) you can't get over a certain amount of shock.

"Alcohol? We shouldn't be drinking, Haruka."

"I turned 18 weeks ago, silly." (Haruka's birthday was a surprise to both you and her when the teacher announced it that morning in homeroom. The next day you brought her a watercolour of her car racing against a bright sun. She was very embarrassed.) "Oh relax. We won't _really_ get drunk. And wine with food isn't irresponsible, it's _sophisticated_."

You have to admit to yourself you're a little nervous at the idea of drinking wine (what if you make a fool out of yourself?) because you've never drunk anything other than a little sake at New Years or at various festivals with your father and his family. But the idea of Haruka being sophisticated makes you grin delightedly, amused (though her car, and her home, and her manners towards you are slowly suggesting there is more to Haruka than just a one-dimensional high school badass who makes you swoon.)

"What?" Haruka questions after you stay silent for more than a couple of moments, a grin plastered on your face.

"Sophisticated, Haruka?"

"What are you talking about? Who says I can't be sophisticated?" She raised her hands above her hand, grasping her hair in fake exasperation.

You walk over to her, take-out menu in hand, and kiss her on the cheek. "I never doubted it." (Maybe just a hint of sarcasm there.)

Haruka eyes you, then, her arms wrapping loosely around your waist. "You make me really happy, you know that?"

* * *

You were just laughing about something, and she peppered the skin along your collarbone with kisses and you shivered.

The laughter died away from your throat, and a fog seemed to have fallen over your mind.

Her hands are warm against your skin and shivering goosebumps rise along your lower back and down the side of your thighs.

She draws you closer and your hands slowly pull the crispy white dress shirt she's wearing off her shoulders.

A gasp when you feel her fingers grazing the delicate skin of your chest.

* * *

When she picks you up to bring you to her bedroom, your heart quickens.

A part of you wonders if you have any right to let this go on.

Her soft mattress and her sweet smile destroys all fragments of your resolve.

* * *

The room is blue and black and covered in shadows, and the soft lights from the buildings out the window illuminate your fingers gently running through blonde strands of hair.

Her eyelids are gently closed, and you don't know if you've ever seen her so peaceful.

* * *

You're in the kitchen, drinking some water from the tap in a lovely tall glass you found in one of the covers.

You are careful to drink at least two or three glasses, because you want to be sure to avoid a headache tomorrow.

* * *

You're quiet as you gaze over her sleeping body.

Or, not sleeping. Just quietly laying there, eyes half lidded, her smooth skin disappearing under the soft, thin sheets.

"Michiru?"

You smile.

"You look beautiful in the dark. And in the softest lights. And in the sun. And under the sky."

"Hey, quit the poetry and get in here."

You quickly duck under the covers, underneath her arms and against her warm skin. She holds you to her, facing each other for a moment of calm.

"Green?"

"Hmmm?"

"I didn't ask, before, but..."

You sigh.

"I...I got a letter today."

Her eyes shine warmly down towards you in the dark, and you bite your lip. This is hard.

"A letter?"

"Yeah."

"What was in the...are you... Michiru?"

You can't help it.

"Shit, stop crying...hey hon, are...shhhh...It's okay..."

* * *

_Saturday morning, you've woken up rather early, even by your standards. You've cleaned the kitchen twice, and are about to check the dishwasher when your eyes land on the monthly calendar stuck on the fridge's door._

_The red circle around the black date sends your heart down to your toes, and your blood turns to ice underneath your skin._

_Moving on autopilot, as if navigating through a dream, you set the wash cloth grasped between your fingers quietly down on the counter. Quieter than a draft along the floor, you head to the front door, and nervously walk down the flights of stairs to where the mailboxes of the apartment building are, stacked along the wall of the entrance hallway._

_The letters come in pristine envelopes, creamy white in colour. They tear difficultly, as heavy weight papers often do. Because of violin, your nails are filed very short, so the extra seconds it takes to open the envelope are tedious, and your impatience makes your fingers shake ever so perceptibly._

_Something falls out of the thick paper package to the floor, and you drop to your knees, hands grasping at the unfolded letter._

_Your eyes scan the lovely font, the carefully calligraphy of the signature, the shining stamp on the top of the page._

_Each word drives your heart further and further into the ground._

_

* * *

_

"I've been accepted to the Paris Conservatory."

"That's amazing, isn't it?"

"It's been my dream. For years."

"So what's wrong?"

"I've been asked to begin in the spring."

"This spring? That's pretty soon. How much time do you have to decide?"

"I'm leaving in three weeks."

The silence bears down with the full weight of realization.

* * *

It's awkward.

That thought immobilizes your thoughts. Things have been tense, and strange, and fun, and more than a little silly, and heated, but the silence is awkward.

Haruka hands you your coat.

"I'll see you Monday?" you ask hopefully as you walk out her front door.

"Will you even be there?" she spitefully retorts. It's quiet enough that you pretend not to have heard.

When she follows you out, car keys in hand, you breathe a sigh of relief.

* * *

_**Almost done, guys. One more chapter. The end will be legendary. **_


End file.
